I would be a farmer's wife like Sarah

I've never run under the assumption that I would be a good farmer's wife. I realize that my blog title carries the name "country." For me, the term more connotes images of simplicity, tradition, cozy evenings, old-fashioned and simple pleasures. 
 
I like gardens, but not the process of gardening. I like meadows and rolling plains, but I like close neighbors and coffee shops. I'm terrified of snakes. But maybe the number one reason I could not be a good farmer's wife, is that I could never send my animals to the butcher. They would become pets. They would have names. I'm not a vegetarian, so call me a hypocrite, but if I own the animals, they become family.

As a child, I couldn't leave a pet store without being in tears because of all the dogs in cages. When we were looking for a new dog when I was ten, my mom took us to the Humane Society to see if we could find one. This did not go well. In my memory, we stayed only about five minutes. I was melting down seeing all those lost and abandoned dogs and horrified at the thought of them being put down.

There was also that time when my grandma's neighbor was telling me that they had "dressed" the rabbits that day. The rabbits that I snuggled and chased and played with who lived in the large pen/yard behind their house. I thought, "How cute, they put outfits on them!" Still makes me sad....

And in another episode of super-sensitivity, my mom rented a video (VHS) for a weekend movie night and it happened to be about horses who worked in coal mines. Let it just be said that any movie that involves coal mines will be tragic. Explosions, collapses, black lung disease...tragic, tragic, tragic.

Anyway, as it happened, an explosion rocked the mine. Shocker. Many horses escaped. One horse, named Lightening, was a blind pony. He knew by feel how to get to and from his stall (inside the mines) and where he was to go to work. Instead of escaping, he galloped back to his stall and died in the collapse. I'm seriously tearing up right now. It was horrible. I remember sitting in my living room, curled up in the brown velvet-ish rocking recliner and sobbing. My mom totally wished that the internet existed so she could have previewed said movie for animal violence for her ultra- sensitive daughter. We proceeded to stay up until midnight because I had to watch a happy movie (I still have to do this). B.R.A.T. Patrol, being our favorite, was quickly popped into the VCR.

Then there was the trout. And my own personal National Geographic parenting fail (I have two girls about as sensitive as I am). But those I'll save for another time.

Sufficed to say, farm life would have been quite traumatic.

We watched the Hallmark movie Sarah, Plain and Tall as a family. Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan is one of Cece's favorites and watching the movie was a reward for reading the whole book out loud to me. This was a BIG DEAL and accomplishment for our sweet girl. 

While we watched she would tell us the similarities and differences between the book and the movie. She rested her head on my shoulder and as it ended, she zeroed her eyes on me and stated, "You're crying."

Of course I am. I always cry...for the happy and sad. I can't make it through the ending of Homeward Bound when the dogs appear over the ridge without losing it and I've seen in dozens of times, but I digress. SENSITIVE to the core.

I don't know that I read Sarah, Plain and Tall growing up. Probably, a vague memory exists. As an adult, I appreciated Sarah's honesty. She wasn't afraid to be who she was, to feel what she felt.

When she arrives, me brings a cat named "Seal." Anna, the young narrator tells of the exchange between her papa and Sarah:

"'The cat will be good in the barn,' said Papa. 'For mice.'

Sarah smiled. 'She will be good in the house, too.'"

And Seal lived in the house. I laughed at this. 

The cat wrangler...

When a lamb is found dead, she shakes her fists at the sky, not accepting it as just a normal part of farm life. Something was broken. It shouldn't be like that.

Sarah is given chickens by their neighbor explaining that they are for eating. Anna quickly deduces that the chickens "would not be for eating." I love her. In the movie, she names the chickens. Some souls (darkened ones) can eat an animal they named, but not me, and not Sarah.

I like her for other reasons also.

She acknowledges that there are always things to miss no matter where you are.

Life is bittersweet. And bittersweet is not bad, it's the real stuff of life.

Sarah found joy in her new life. Maybe not at first. She missed her family, she missed the sea. But she opened her heart. She allowed herself to be changed, to see new possibilities. She missed her old life, but in the end, she knew she'd miss her new life more.

She found beauty. She was real with what she missed, but grasped the life around her. I love this about Sarah. I want to live this way.

And, she turned farm animals into pets. I know this would be me...

I would like to be a farmer's wife like Sarah.


p.s. All pictures were taken at our dear friends' farm in Missouri. Check out Harvest Table Farm here or follow on Instagram. Our kids had the best time. We loved it.

a Mayberry day, country things, and my dad

We've had a lot of "Mayberry days" recently. For me, this means a simple day, a day spent "sitting on my front porch drinking iced cold Cherry Coke" (or iced tea although I do love Cherry Coke). I love the Rascal Flatts song, I run to it. I love country music (most) and old-fashioned simplicity where progress and productivity are set aside and I read a book while my kids sketch chalk designs on the sidewalk and dance in the front yard. I like the Mayberry ideal. It doesn't hurt that our neighbors down the street have chickens in their backyard--clucks echo off the surrounding houses, birds twitter, a dog barks, and I can almost ignore a siren in the background.

Mayberry and country things in general also remind me of my dad. Music from Willie Nelson, Kenny Rogers and the Oak Ridge Boys were melodies of my childhood soundtrack. We played Elvira at his memorial service. We knew he'd appreciate it. We always laughed at this song and loved the Oak Ridge Boy with the deepest bass voice in the history of the world. No joke! (The video I linked to is quite hilarious, the "boys" are...aged;-)).

All things cowboy and country bring back those memories...the good ones. Bittersweet is still sweet. I'm no cowgirl. I'm legitimately citified, but I have fond childhood and adult memories of county fairs, state fairs, stock shows, and rodeos. Part of my love is simply the small town America atmosphere felt at county fairs. Life seems simpler, purer, pointing back to my Mayberry ideal. 

Until I was eight or nine, if you asked me what my dad did for a living, I would have told you without hesitation that he was a cowboy. This was my dad's answer to me when I asked him this question. I was young, and I believed every word. He had the props to back it up. Cowboy hat, countless pairs of cowboy boots, and his twangy country music was gospel. I told kids at school this "fact" and was quickly called a liar, but I held fast in my resolve.

As much as Old Spice aftershave, these country things bore his essence. I remember him with a smile, a poignant sweetness. I have many very hard and bitter memories. I've even gotten rid of possessions in my house because every time I saw them, I would face a memory I wished long forgotten. The most unsuspecting items would transport me to a scene, like immersing myself in Dumbledore's pensieve.

But at rodeos and county fairs and on front porches, I can bask in memory of a dad that I haven't seen in a long time. Wheat fields as far as the eye can see bring comfort. I can feel what he was supposed to be, what he was at his best. It's not to say that he was a different man who shed his struggles during these times, it's more symbolic. He was country born and bred. Growing up on a farm in Western Nebraska with three brothers his life brimmed with possibility, talent, charisma and hope. We all make choices, he made his, and it's not how good stories end.

I know that small-town life does not mean that life is easy. Life is not. But the memories remain pure to me. The antics of boys on a Nebraska farm, the walking up hill both ways to town (he had a car by the way), Coke in glass bottles at the local store...these stories I love. I pair them with my childhood watercolor memories of wearing my white cowgirl hat, accented with a purple feather, as I tagged along with my dad at the stock show, climbing into the back of his car cringing at the country twang, seeing his many pairs of boots lined up on the floor in my parents' bedroom (proof of his profession), and pots of his famous "ranch-hand" chili simmering on the stove.

Several years ago, I went to a rodeo with my in-laws. It was there I realized the sweetness of these memories. But as with mourning, something sweet can be a double-edged sword. I often don't think about my dad, I can avoid it. But good memories bring back the sting of loss. What could've been but wasn't. And suddenly I missed him painfully. I couldn't keep back the tears. I wanted to stay because the memories were good, but at the same time I just wanted to escape because I could do nothing to change the reality that my dad was gone.  I loved it and I hated it.

In spite of the loss, I'm thankful for these memories. I still love county fairs. I'm not quite sure how I feel about attending rodeos, sometimes it's easier to love them from a distance. Country music I now love for me and not just because of my dad, something we share. I don't know that my kids love country music, but it will be in their childhood soundtrack also. And this makes me smile.

And I'm thankful for my Mayberry days, where life feels peaceful and simple even if just for an afternoon.